The Dirty Window

What appears here to be a dirty window is in fact a dirty window. And it’s going to stay dirty. Because it’s covered in pug spittle. Peanut’s pug spittle.

For years and years, when Joel was close to being back at the house, we’d coordinate the timing of when I’d hold Peanut up to look out the window. I’d ask, “Is that one daddy? No…. Is THAT one daddy? No…” When his car slowed down and would start to turn into the driveway, I’d exclaim, “Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home!” at which point the barking, sputtering, lurching, and kicking would commence.

I adored her reaction to Joel’s coming home. She was particularly enthusiastic if he’d been away for several days for business. He used to joke that at least one of us was always happy to see him come home. Maybe it’s because he almost always had a treat for one of us?!?

A 1980s Child Face Book page I follow recently posted a meme that read, “At some point in your childhood, you and your friends went outside to play together for the last time, and none of you knew it.” From the comments and reactions, it made a lot of us pretty sad. That’s what I think of when I see that window. One of those days that Joel slowed down to pull into the driveway would be the last time I held her up so she could say it and spray it, and none of us knew it. I am crying through the chuckles as I type this.

We will soon put our house on the market. I suspect people will notice that dirty window and wonder how in the world we overlooked that when we cleaned the place up.

It wasn’t overlooked. The new owners of this house will need to take care of it. They won’t know or care why it’s there, but I care. So until we’re gone, I will ever-so-gently brush my fingertips over those spots, knowing it was our little Peanut who left them there, in her excitement that daddy was home.

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